


Insomniac

by thesometimeswarrior



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, Book 3: Fire, Canon Compliant, Episode: s03e02 The Headband, Family, Ficlet, Gen, Guilt, Introspection, Stream of Consciousness, Uncle-Nephew Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 03:43:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9954392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesometimeswarrior/pseuds/thesometimeswarrior
Summary: "He wakes again, pants, reaches for his scar out of force of habit. He thought that coming home might mean that he would finally be able to sleep through the night. Apparently, he was wrong."Zuko, and the memories that haunt his dreams.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Some direct quotes borrowed from the show, especially from Episode: _The Avatar State_.

He wakes again, pants, reaches for his scar out of force of habit. He thought that coming home might mean that he would finally be able to sleep through the night. Apparently, he was wrong.

They’re not _dreams_ , exactly. They’ve never been figments like dreams are, like those terrifying, feverish, hallucinations he had on their apartment floor in Ba Sing Se: himself as the Avatar, himself as unscarred Fire Lord, the dragons with Azula’s voice, Uncle’s voice… (Uncle had stayed up with him all night, had ladled tea and cold water down his parched throat, had held cool compresses to his clammy forehead...Uncle had...Uncle...) These are not dreams like that. But rather memories, lived over and over again in sequence behind his closed eyelids, until he jolts awake.

When it had started happening over three years ago—when he would wake clutching his face as though it were freshly burned, wake from memories of the arena, of his prostration, his father—he would light candles, try to meditate. It hardly ever worked. And every night, without fail, when his peace of mind didn't come, there would be a gentle knock on his door, and then his Uncle’s voice, _Tea, Prince Zuko?_ , and two cups of hot ginseng. Uncle’s warm smile. Even when they had been in double exile, sleeping in the mud in the Agni-forsaken wilderness in the middle of the Earth Kingdom, Uncle had been there awake with him every time, with his old teapot and porcelain mugs.

The memories are different now; they're not his father, the agni kai, burning of the flesh. They're a staircase under auburn leaves, overlooking the sea and a small ship, a comforting hand on his shoulder, and _Family sticks together, right?_ They're Uncle voluntarily being locked in the prison hold with him in those long first hours of banishment…

_Family sticks together, right?_

There’re arguments he can have in his head, about why _he_ is "family" and Azula is not ( _Because Azula tried to drag you and Uncle both home as prisoners in the guise of family_ , he tries not to tell himself), about where Uncle’s allegiance ought to have been ( _It doesn’t matter where it_ ought _to have been; it was with_ you _, always with_ you, _you idiot_ ). But rational arguments don’t matter now. It’s a _feeling_ he’s left with: Uncle’s arm on his shoulder, a real smile on his lips for the first time in months...it’s a feeling, and it’s no less strong than the burning on his face had been in the early mornings of the past three years 

Uncle is not here now. Uncle is locked away in the prison tower, probably sitting in rags and being fed moldy rice and sharing it with rats. Uncle has no teapot, and he’s not here.

 _He_ has no teapot either, has to ring for servants to make him tea. And they would come, now, at three o'clock in the morning, if he asked, and bow and bring him whatever blend he wanted, hot or cold, in golden cups...

( _The best tea tastes delicious whether it comes in a porcelain pot or a tin cup_ , Uncle had said once.) 

So there’s no tea here at all, not really.

He gets up for a moment, reaches for the door, means to go to the prison tower now, see Uncle now, right _now_ …but then what would he say? _Family sticks together, but that only applies to you sticking with me through everything that ever happened to me...not to me ever sticking with you._

He almost laughs, bitterly, at the thought of it.

There’s no tea here, so he climbs back into bed, lays down, closes his eyes. 

He tries to remember what Ginseng tasted like on his tongue.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I live for comments!


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